[Molly isn't ... too much better. A lot different. Quieter. It's just a seething line of rage, mostly, something that he hardly ever has. He's angry sometimes, sure, but that thin and quiet rage is. Well. Probably more Lucien than anything. It isn't Beau's scribbles or the buzz and muttering. It's the sound of blood pounding in ears.
[There's at least a break in the extremely bad simmering rage thought stream when that happens. He holds onto the voucher for a second before he pulls away too far, catching his hand with his own. And then lets him go.]
S'alright. I don't care about them. Rather they went towards something good anyway.
[he's going to try and hold Caleb's hand for a second. Trying not to think of the image again, or really to think of anything at all, so he doesn't make it harder.]
[I know, darling, I know. When his face falls like that, Molly can feel his heart break for him - just that little bit more. He's normally talented at words. Or, at least he can think of some to say. But he feels like he's running out of comforting thoughts himself, doesn't know how to soothe this wound as well. Not when it feels like every time, something worse happens to dig the knife in deeper. Coming over to pull him into a hug, putting his chin on top of his head.]
Everything is a bit broken right now. [A ruin is irreparable. Not enough pieces to put back up.] But not a ruin quite yet.
[That does help, strangely enough. He wants to think that's true; everyone will be damaged by this, but the damage doesn't have to be irreparable. He is used to thinking of himself as ruined, destroyed, and there will always be that part of him that imagines the man he was supposed to be, the man others sometimes look at him and see as long as they don't go too deep. But even he has found a way to put his own pieces together and make something that functions, that others seem to be able to depend on and find things worthwhile about. So maybe all is not lost.
He leans into the hug, accepting a little comfort. There is Molly, too - if Lucien is to be believed, just a fragment of a deeply broken person. But however broken and incomplete he might have been, something very good came from it. Someone who is consistently kind and gentle, who always knows the thing to say to pull him back from his bleakest thoughts. I love you, he thinks, and he doesn't really mind if he's heard.]
[When it seems to connect, he breathes out like he's been holding in the tension for nine hours. He's always been one to believe in his own bullshit too much, so for it to find purchase here is ... more than relief. Being broken doesn't have to define everything down the road. Things change, skin forms scars, wounds don't always heal correctly. There is still something to look forward to.
There isn't a jolt of shock or anything at the thought. It isn't a surprise, really. Of course they love each other. You don't chase after someone like him so many times without something along the lines of love driving you. It's a warm, comforting thing, the messy, tangled knot of whatever forms of love are sitting heavily between them. love you, love you, love you. Kissing him on top of the head, quiet still, except the thoughts.]
[No. It's not hard for him to say these things, either, exactly, once it's been broken. He will tell Veth he loves her easily now, because he has heard it from her so many times; harder to be the first, even when he knows. But the way Molly hung off of his 'I like you very much' in his thoughts made it a little - well, he knew. And more than that, he knew Molly wants to hear those things from him, and he's very happy to give it. He means it in many different ways, but also the obvious one. Also that.]
[The way in which they are very close friends in a found family situation? That way? That way, right? Not the way which Beau would call gross. The thing that he is surprised about is how much he does like hearing these things. How it's odd that Caleb seems to say it easily enough, doesn't resent him for wanting these things. It's too much to ask from someone you've just been involved with for two weeks, only really known for a few months, but he doesn't seem to begrudge him that short time.
He's quiet for another long stretch, keeping his face buried in Caleb's hair - it's kind of funny that Caleb is actually taller than him, and he's thinking about that again. Everything is so serious and Caleb is? Taller than him? Before he starts to shift finally.]
Look, I'm not an expert, but I think you're supposed to do those things at candlenight dinners and such. Not after calling a teenager a son of a bitch and storming off to cry.
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He goes to lean against a wall somewhere nearby.]
Yeah?
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[He's not even sure what he's talking about, he knows it doesn't make very much sense.]
I just want them to have him tonight. Nothing else will help, but a cat, maybe.
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[I already submitted it, but he just digs out the voucher in his pocket and offers it over.]
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Next week, hold on to a few.
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S'alright. I don't care about them. Rather they went towards something good anyway.
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[He's not pulling away too far.]
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And I've got an-- what was it? 1/8th of a cat now?
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[This is ridiculous but it's not so terrible a conversation.]
Are you buying this cat tonight?
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[I don't want this for Maya.]
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It'll help. It's a good thing.
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Caleb?
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It's not. . . it's alright.
[. . .]
She and I had a whole conversation about it. How awful this would be. She didn't want it to happen to me, because of. . .
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Yeah. Not being in control of your own mind.
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But I did not want it to happen to her. She does not deserve to be ruined like this.
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Everything is a bit broken right now. [A ruin is irreparable. Not enough pieces to put back up.] But not a ruin quite yet.
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He leans into the hug, accepting a little comfort. There is Molly, too - if Lucien is to be believed, just a fragment of a deeply broken person. But however broken and incomplete he might have been, something very good came from it. Someone who is consistently kind and gentle, who always knows the thing to say to pull him back from his bleakest thoughts. I love you, he thinks, and he doesn't really mind if he's heard.]
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There isn't a jolt of shock or anything at the thought. It isn't a surprise, really. Of course they love each other. You don't chase after someone like him so many times without something along the lines of love driving you. It's a warm, comforting thing, the messy, tangled knot of whatever forms of love are sitting heavily between them. love you, love you, love you. Kissing him on top of the head, quiet still, except the thoughts.]
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He's quiet for another long stretch, keeping his face buried in Caleb's hair - it's kind of funny that Caleb is actually taller than him, and he's thinking about that again. Everything is so serious and Caleb is? Taller than him? Before he starts to shift finally.]
Look, I'm not an expert, but I think you're supposed to do those things at candlenight dinners and such. Not after calling a teenager a son of a bitch and storming off to cry.
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[He says it a little teasingly, but it isn't a joke. Sometimes you know best what a person means to you because of the worst circumstances.]